Leaving The Slums always threw Skrakch for a moment. It was easy to forget just how large a city Dray’Mel was when you only ventured outside of your own district occasionally. Seeing the streets widen and the Humans dwindle was both a blessing and a curse. Sure there would be fewer Humans dragging their rotten smells everywhere but conversely, the diminished crowds made a Ratling stick out like a sore thumb.

The Residential District wasn’t the best place for a creature like him to be. Yet, he supposed that that would be the thing that would work in their favor, he mused to himself with more than a hint of bitterness. The Residential District was a far cry from The Slums that he called home, after all.

It was the District of Dray’Mel where the upper class made their homes. Reserved mostly for wealthy landowners, businessmen, and members of the Dray’Mel living government. It consisted of their large mansion houses, each with its own sprawling grounds and each more elaborate than the last.

There were no open sewers to be found here. The air was thick with the scent of freshly manicured lawns and various rare flowers that were grown in hothouses and shipped to the landowners at high prices. From there, the paid gardeners would replant them into neat, regimented rows. Gods Below forbid any lord or lady catch a whiff of something foul in their distinguished noses with their even more distinguished nose hairs.

And Gods Below forbid they would ever have a non-servant Ratling on their property. The ‘Richies’ as Zacharias liked to call them, were very clear about their feelings on the Iskrin race and where they belonged.

And that was why while Skrakch chased after the dream of being rich himself, there was no way he would ever live in the Residential District. The very thought made him sick to his stomach and threatened to re-open long ago closed wounds.

No, the people who resided here weren’t kind to Iskrin walking loose in their perfect slice of the city. In point of fact, if Skrakch hadn’t been walking through the area with Zacharias, he’d likely have been detained already by the occasional guard who kept eyeing him with disgust.

Skrakch kept his head down and trailed behind the Halfling by a few steps, doing his best to avoid attracting attention. The only time he dropped the blank look he kept on his face, was as they passed a burnt-down shell of a mansion.

It was the one spot of filth and imperfection in sight, the mansion-sized pile of rubble making a jarring sight. Skrakch was always surprised to still see it, but clearly, no one was quite sure what to do with the land yet, leaving the lot to rot.

Pausing for a moment, Skrakch bowed his head in a brief show of respect, before catching back up with the whistling Halfling. It wouldn’t do to get caught up in his own thoughts before a major job.

Unfortunately, his momentary lapse in attention earned him a stern glare from a nearby guard, the man eyeing the Ratling with open disdain. As if the idea of a brown Iskrin showing sympathy for a Human’s misfortune was somehow a rude display.

Before he could school his features to stillness, Skrakch locked eyes with the guard, wrestling with a brief surge of anger. Still, this night was too important to ruin, no matter how much he’d like to stab the smug prick. Settling for seething internally, it, unfortunately, didn’t slip Zacharias' notice, the ginger-mopped Halfling giving him a sly grin as they gained some distance from the patrolling guards.

“Oi!” Zacharias punched him on the shoulder. “What’s up Squeakers? You fancy him or summat? Don’t get distracted, we need to keep our eyes on the prize. Just let me do the talking and we’ll be inside in no time!”

Skrakch turned to look at the Halfling. For once, Zacharias had cleaned himself up. His newly acquired scarlet jacket was immaculate, no rips or tears to be seen, its brass buttons shined to perfection. His black tailored pants were equally as spotless and he’d even topped the outfit off with a velvet top hat that had a matching scarlet hatband.

Certainly, the old gentleman who’d had his laundry hanging on a washing line wasn’t expecting to be a few articles of clothing short. Still, as Zacharias had said at the time, that guy’s loss was their gain. As far as the ginger bastard was concerned, hanging your laundry out to dry in Dray’Mel was asking for it to be stolen.

Zacharias checked himself out in a nearby coach window and gave himself a grin and a supercilious wink. Skrakch rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Now who’s getting distracted?” Skrakch said witheringly.

“Make sure you keep a clueless look on your face, Squeakers,” Zacharias continued, ignoring Skrakch’s sarcasm. “Summat tells me you’ve had plenty of practice!”

“Indeed. I’ve seen the look on your face enough times,” Skrakch replied quickly with a smirk.

Once again, Skrakch found himself daydreaming of just how good it would feel to break Zacharias’ nose. It was a fantasy that he found himself turning to more often these days. Still, he has a mantra that he always tells himself. There’s a time and a place to get even. Skrakch fixed his face with his best blank look he could manage and the pair continued to walk towards their intended target.

Luckily, the mansion that was their target was one of the larger ones, set away from the others, with decent-sized grounds around it. He was sure you could fit at least thirty of the hovels Skrakch was used to in just the grounds surrounding the home. Their target today was clearly one of the richer lords in the district. It made the plan all the more sweeter.

It was a sprawling u-shaped three-story building. Built some five hundred or so years ago, or so Zacharias had told him. The red brick building had countless bay windows, some with balconies attached. Skrakch could easily imagine the lord and lady of the manor standing on those balconies on the third floor, which provided the perfect height to look down on anyone they so wished.

As they walked up the inclined gravel path that led to the front door, Skrakch saw glowing balls of light here and there, hanging from the cornices. They were imbued with some kind of magic, some blend of enchantment and fire energy, no doubt. No run-of-the-mill fire torches for these fancy folk, no only the best for the lords and ladies of Dray’Mel.

The front doors themselves were heavy-looking dark wood creations, with carved birds flying in spirals from the bottom to the top with stained glass windows on either side. The handles were ornate-looking lead and there was a knocker that looked like the head of a griffin.

“Quite the fancy entrance, ain’t it?” Zacharias said, nodding at the door with approval. Before he moved past it, much to Skrakch’s confusion.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten all dressed up like a fop just to sneak in one of the windows?” Skrakch asked sarcastically. Once a burglar, always a burglar, he supposed. The Halfling rogue probably had an aversion to doors. Too common for him perhaps? Not enough of the danger factor that he so obviously craved?

“Nope,” Zach replied, popping with the ‘p’ obnoxiously and, of course, not offering any kind of explanation. It was going to be easy to break the Halfling’s nose when the time came. Honestly, he was practically inviting it, Skrakch silently praised himself for his impeccable patience.

He followed in his companion’s wake as the Halfling approached the side entrance. Skrakch spied two burly guards who flanked the much more basic-looking wooden door. Dressed in ill-fitting armor, the two guards were of Orcish stock. Their large size and massive tusks were enough to impress most nobles into hiring them. Still, while they looked terribly intimidating, one look at their lax stance and bored eyes was enough for Skrakch to discount them.

The entrance they approached was for the mansion staff, probably the servants and footmen. Coming in the side entrance was not part of the plan that he’d been privy to. Still, it would’ve been pretty naive to expect much else from Zacharias. After all, the Halfling had an annoying tendency to explain plans when he was half cut on whatever alcoholic beverage he could filch, which didn’t make for the best explanations.

Zacharias fished through his pockets for his invitation. As much as it pained Skrakch to admit it, now that he was dressed in a much more impressive outfit, he did look the part of a bored nobleman albeit one who barely came up to the guard’s waist.

As Zacharias waved the parchment under the guard's nose, the Halfling sniffed in disgust. “Come now! It’s bad enough you’ve got me entering through the side gate, but to make me wait? Do you know who I am? I’m the one saving your Lord from embarrassment in today’s fights. Let me in at once, or I’ll have you sacked”, he ordered loftily. His snotty tone was a perfect mix of derision and superiority and he’d lost all trace of his usual accent. Skrakch had to admit the swift change was actually mildly impressive.

“I’m sorry M'lord, but the invitation-only permits you. I’m afraid your…guest, must wait out here”, the taller of the two guards stated, looking down, literally, on Skrakch.

“Guest? Are you a simpleton?” Zacharias blustered with the affected expression of someone who should not be questioned ever. “It’s a Ratling, he’s just here to hold my things. I mean, really! When’s the last time anyone ever thought to invite a -rat- anywhere?”, Zacharias laughed while Skrakch kept a steady face, seemingly not paying attention to his surroundings and looking every inch the benign servant.

The two guards looked them over one last time before the guardsman waved them through the gate. “Hmph. Well, just keep an eye on your servant then. Most folks don’t like seeing those…things out and about.”

Zacharias quickly steered them inside the entrance, before he pulled open a cellar door. As a wave of drunken yelling broke through the night's silence, The Halfling gave another supercilious wink to Skrakch and then led them down the stairs.

Rather than a modest cellar that one would expect, there was a massive enclosure under the mansion. Drunken men and loosely clothed women galore caroused freely. Some were knocking back pints at a rudimentary bar, others were involved in intimate embraces with nary a care to who might be watching them, and others were focused on the piece de resistance of the cellar, the very center.

Surrounded by wooden fences, with plenty of chicken wire between the posts to maximize visibility, was a deep sandpit, streaked with blood. In the center were two combatants, striking and punching at one another. One of them let out a loud cry of pain every few seconds or so, which fueled the audience’s cheers to be even louder.

Glancing at the state of the two brawlers, Skrakch couldn’t help but sneer. It seemed both men had more brawn than skill, taking turns slugging at each other. There was no finesse to their moves, no clever training behind it. They were two thugs just seeing which of them could draw the most blood. It was a pathetic display of masculinity, something that Humans seemed to be fond of. His paws itched to jump into the ring himself to show them how it was done, but he managed to resist, knowing there was bigger prey in mind.

Pushing a few drug-addled fools out of his way, Zacharias led Skrakch towards the other side of the pit where a large blocked-off viewing area resembled a glass box. Inside of it was a raised dais with a plush red carpet leading up to a velvet and gilt throne. Sitting on this throne, which happened to be the largest Skrakch had ever seen, was an even larger Minotaur.

Bloated and corpulent, the Minotaur barely seemed to be paying attention to the fighters and was clearly more interested in a junior slave boy he had perched on his leg. Still, the rather outsized Ratling knew it would only take one swing from his meaty hands to swat him aside.

Looming over even the tallest of his servants, the Minotaur was massive, both in height and in size. Its richly embroidered tunic was nearly bursting at the seams, as the bull-headed creature drained an entire flagon of wine in a single gulp. Skrakch tried his best not to visibly retch at the smell of the unwashed creature, reeking of days-old booze. While most Minotaurs were known for their muscles, it seemed even they could succumb to the deadliest foe… laziness.

“Rodyr!” Zacharias announced as he clapped his hands and stepped into the box. “Looks like you started without me, you sly old bastard! Are you excited for the main match tonight?”, he cried out as he stepped up directly to the Minotaur’s seat. Next to the throne, on either side, were two smaller chairs made out of oak, much less elaborate than the Minotaur’s seat.

Without turning, the Minotaur grumbled out, “I can’t say I am. We had quite the grand fight planned for our Champion to win, but his competition seems to have turned up dead. It makes for a very unfortunate fight when the opposition doesn’t move or breathe. It tends to affect profits on the bets. It was nice of you to offer up your own fighter so quickly.”

Rodyr pushed the slave boy off of his lap, making him tumble to the floor through sheer force. He finally turned his attention to Zach, though as soon as he spotted Skrakch he frowned with an all too familiar look of derision on his face.

“You invited an Iskrin to my mansion?” The Minotaur thundered. The slave boy, obviously sensing danger, hurried to his feet and disappeared through the blue curtain. “You know how the filthy things breed. We’ll all be wallowing in muck before the night is out!”

“Don’t worry your Lordship!'' Zach replied quickly. “I made sure to buy one that’s been well trained. Not to mention neutered. The little guy knows quite a few commands actually, perfect for any kind of manual labor!” He explained smoothly. He side-eyed Skrakch, obviously waiting to see if he showed any kind of reaction. There was something about the Halfling’s sly smile that seemed as if he were almost daring Skrakch to do so.

But, of course, Skrakch knew he would be a fool to react now. He thought of the mantra that he so often needed to silently repeat when he found himself spending any longer than fifteen minutes in Zacharias’ odious company. ‘The plan comes first!’. Still, he’d be damned if he wouldn’t pay him back for that neutered comment. Maybe Kuosh could find him a Ghoul to put in Zacharias’ bed. What he wouldn’t give to see the look on the smug Halfling’s face when he woke up to that!

Rodyr grunted affirmation, focusing on the slave boy who returned with four other servants, each carrying huge metal trays between them. Each tray was piled high with various meats and luxury fruits. The four men placed the trays at Rodyr’s huge cloven hooves and the unfortunate slave began to feed him, clearly still terrified. Skrakch ached to grab something for himself but he knew the burly beast would have his head off in seconds.

He followed diligently as Zacharias made his excuses about checking up on his fighter and left the box. Ignoring the various sights and opting out from partaking in the varied offered narcotics, the Halfling led him to a side room and opened the door where an outpouring of scents washed over them.

The stench of sweat and blood was almost choking in intensity, practically sticking to his whiskers. It was obviously some kind of locker room where the fighters would wait before and after matches. Although, Skrakch thought to himself, calling it a locker room might be too generous an explanation. Rodyr clearly didn’t care about providing top-notch amenities for his fighters.

There was little to look at other than a cracked sink with rusty taps that was spattered with blood of varying ages, and a rickety and equally stained wooden bench. It was covered in scratches and dates where previous fighters had decided to leave their mark, no doubt hoping something would outlast them should their bout go… badly.

Standing with one foot up on the bench was a familiar face, however.

“Well, well, well Winnie my dear!” Zacharias said before Skrakch could greet her. “You’re looking positively dangerous today! I’m loving this bad girl motif you have going on. Very apt considering!”

Winifred paused from wrapping her left hand. She gave Zacharias a bored look, rolling her eyes at him. Skrakch was always grateful that he had an ally who found the smart-mouthed Halfling as obnoxious as he did. As the Human race went, Winifred was one of the more pleasing ones. She was tall and lean with impressive muscles and kept her long brown hair back into a functional plait. She’d brought along her best gear, tight-fitting brown pants with armor plating at the knees and thighs and further plating on her shoulders and elbows over the ripped white shirt that showed off her flat stomach with its tight abs. She cut an impressive figure on the streets of Dray’Mel where most were used to women being fish wives or ladies of the night.

“Aye and it’s about time ye showed up,” She said eventually in her lilting brogue. She finished wrapping her left hand and started on the right. “I was startin’ to think I’d be needin’ ta rob these fools meself.”

“And let you down darling?” Zach gave another wink. “No chance! Like I told you two, this is gonna be the biggest payday of our lives!”